Authors: Father Christmas
“And they seem to share so equably.” He wrinkled his aristocratic nose when the twins traded half-eaten cookies. “I thought little boys were more possessive than badgers.”
Graceanne laughed. “They don’t always get along this well, but if one falls, the other cries. They’ve always been like that. Willy lets Leslie take his toys, but Leslie gives Willy the bigger piece of cake.”
She studied the leaves left in her teacup, wishing she could read the future there. Her future was now. With a deep breath Graceanne said, “It would be cruel to separate them, Your Grace. Cousin.”
He sighed. “And you. I can see that. Please do forgive my thoughtlessness, that letter, even the suggestion of taking Willy away. Please understand I was feeling desperate. I truly do want sons of my own.”
“Then you won’t…?”
Hope was shining in the widow’s blue eyes. Leland hated to dim that light, but he had to tell her. “Willy—Wellesley—is still my heir, no matter what your wishes, or his, or mine. He’ll need to know about the lands and people, to learn the responsibilities facing him, the same way I did.”
Graceanne looked at Willy, his face smeared with raspberry jam. “If you can teach him to use a napkin, that should be enough for now.”
The duke didn’t smile. “For now.”
Graceanne understood the door was still open, the threat was still left hanging, but she’d won some time today. “Come, boys, we must let His Grace go about his business.”
“G’bye, Collie,” they giggled in unison, tumbling out of the room after giving him a quick, unexpected double hug.
The duke brushed crumbs off his pantaloons. Graceanne dabbed ineffectively with her napkin at the raspberry smears on his once-pristine shirtfront. Her cheeks grew pinker than the stains when she realized what she was doing. “H-habit, Your Grace.”
“They like me” was all he said, in wonder. Then he asked if he could call another time.
Graceanne couldn’t have heard right. “Excuse me, Cousin?”
“I asked if I might come by again, to spend time with the boys.”
Graceanne let her napkin flutter to the floor. Goodness, not even Tony had ever wanted to spend time with the boys.
His heirs were slap up to the mark. The duke’s valet was packing to return to London, but the boys were marvelous. They might be a trifle overexuberant, but high spirits were not to be despised. Ware had always hated those miniature wax dummies his friends trotted out for inspection to be dutifully admired—the ladies always cooed—then placed back on their shelves. What was there to admire in a child with no conversation, no imagination, no sparkle? Neatness? Neatness mattered in a valet—who might be persuaded to stay on with a raise in salary; the fellow did have a way with boots—not in a little boy. Besides, high spirits were natural in Tony’s sons. Eton and Oxford could tame any unruliness, Ware complacently decided, ignoring the fact that no amount of rigid school discipline had checked Tony’s wilder starts. Warrington had been his mother’s despair until he married and became some other female’s worry. Aunt Claire had been ecstatic when Tony chose a quiet girl from a strict upbringing. Tony’s marriage hadn’t given his hey-go-mad cousin any better sense of responsibility, but it had given the duke his heir and a spare! Leland raised a brandy nightcap to the fallen hero. “You were a credit to the Warrington name,” he toasted. “Your sons are all a man could ask for to succeed him.” And his wife wasn’t half bad either, but Ware didn’t say that aloud, just in case Tony could hear him. The old castle had ghosts enough.
Graceanne was a puzzle the duke pondered long after snuffing out his bedside candle. In the dark he could visualize her eyes, her face, her form, and be stirred by the images his mind conjured up. Hell, a ghost would be stirred by
those
images. Then he pictured those horrific black sacks that covered the widow from head to toe. They were enough to dampen any man’s ardor, even one who hadn’t had a woman since leaving London and wouldn’t have one while he was resident in the family pile. No true gentleman fouled his own nest, and the Duke of Ware had never been one to tup serving wenches at the local tavern. He required a little more refinement in his convenients. Which brought him back to the vicar’s daughter.
There was something deuced havey-cavey about the female. Her fortune wasn’t on her back, that was for certain, nor, to judge from the state of the vicarage, was it going to lighten her family’s burdens. Even the children she obviously adored were being shortchanged with mittens for Christmas. And she was doing her own baking. So what the devil was she doing with the money?
The duke fell asleep determined to uncover the widow’s secrets. And her hair, her shoulders, her ankles…
To that end, and others the duke chose not to examine more closely, he arose the next morning, paid his valet’s extortion demands, and drove to the manse.
Miss Prudence almost threw herself into his arms when she saw the rig he was driving. “Oh, Your Grace, I’ve never ridden in a sporting vehicle! Why, Lucy will be green with envy. Her beau only drives a gig.”
She almost threw herself on the ground when he said he’d come to take her sister out instead. “I’ve promised the boys, you see, and cannot disappoint them, no matter how I might wish it otherwise.”
When Pru flounced out of the room, Graceanne put down her account books and turned on him. “What is this Banbury tale of promising the twins a ride? You did no such thing, thank goodness, or they’d have slept in their overcoats to be ready.”
Ware’s smile was so charming she couldn’t be angry, especially not when he shrugged his broad shoulders and confessed, “I came to offer you and the boys a ride, and I didn’t want to have to tool some silly chit around the countryside instead. A promise to them was the only polite excuse I could think of. Will you come? You did say the children needed more exercise.”
They did, and the account books never balanced anyway. Besides, she was secretly delighted that Ware wasn’t falling all over Prudence like every other male in the neighborhood. It was a long-overdue boost to her sorely tried vanity that this exquisite in fawn breeches and caped riding coat preferred her, Graceanne’s, company to that of her beautiful younger sister. Of course Ware needed to have her if he was to have the boys, but so what? A mother’s pride was gratified, too. With her father’s strictures ringing in her ears, she accepted. When she’d told the vicar there was to be no more talk of the duke taking Willy to raise, he’d been disappointed. When she mentioned Ware’s request to call again, he’d grown angry.
“You’re to have nothing to do with the man, do you hear me? He’s a rake. Why does he want to visit children? Mark me, daughter, if he doesn’t want Wellesley, it’s you he’s after. And I won’t have any Jezebel living under my roof.”
All in all, Graceanne thought she was being very daring—until she saw the curricle outside. “It’s too high. It cannot be safe. The horses are too highly strung and they’ll go too fast and the boys will fall out. I’m sorry, but—”
Ware’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “I wouldn’t have expected Tony’s wife to be so lily-livered. But come, ma’am, you’re insulting both my driving skills and the manners of Castor and Pollux. Perfect gentlemen, I assure you.”
The twins were already being introduced to the matched bays by His Grace’s tiger. She did have to admit the horses seemed remarkably even-mannered for high-bred cattle.
Any animals that stood still to have their noses patted first by Leslie in the groom’s arms, while Willy hopped up and down, calling “Horsie, horsie,” were not likely to spook under the duke’s capable hands.
“But the seat is so far from the ground!”
“That’s what makes the ride so exciting! But I assure you neither lad will come to grief. I have it all planned out. You’ll hang on tight to one on your lap, and the other will sit wedged between us. John Groom will keep his hand on the boy’s shoulder from his perch behind.”
Graceanne was not convinced. Willy and Leslie were still shouting and jumping about, dangerously close to the horses’ hooves, she thought, but the groom did seem to have his eyes on them, and a calming hand on the horses. “I fear the children will not sit still well enough.”
“Of course they will. You’re not babies, are you?” Ware called over to the boys. “Babies wriggle and scream too much and upset the horses, so they cannot go for curricle rides. That’s the rule.”
Willy held up three fingers to prove he was far beyond infancy; Les tried to tell the duke he was old enough to shave.
“There, are you satisfied now?”
She’d have to be. She’d need a crowbar to separate the twins from those horses, else. She nodded, which earned her a warm smile from Ware.
“Good. They’re boys, not hothouse orchids. You’ll have to let them grow up someday, you know.”
“Surely not until they can dress themselves!” she pleaded.
The boys had been having one of their private conversations, and now Leslie approached the duke and tugged on his sleeve. “Collie, Willy wants to ride the horsie.”
“Oh, only Willy?” Leland teased. He stooped down to their level. “I’m sorry, lads, but Castor and Pollux are carriage horses. They’re not used to being ridden.”
Leslie and Willy were not used to being denied. They went to their mother. Les stuck out his lower lip and Willy stamped his foot. “Want to ride the horsies!”
“But Cousin Leland has explained, darlings, it wouldn’t be safe. You know that Posy doesn’t like you on her back.”
“But these horsies are twins! John said so!” Both children started to cry.
Graceanne was wishing the wretched duke, his carriage, and horses to perdition. The duke; however, commanded, “Stop that nonsense,” in a voice that had Meg in the upstairs window stop mooning over John below. The bawling ceased. “I thought you told me you weren’t babies? It’s too bad I can make promises only to real gentlemen, not infants, for I would have promised to bring a riding horse next time if you behaved today.”
Noses were wiped, eyes dried, and the boys clambered over the wheels and into the curricle.
“And you were worried they would fall?” the duke asked as he helped Graceanne onto the bench. “They’re as agile as squirrels!”
The argument over which twin got to sit alone was instantly quelled by Leland’s masterful decision that Willy would have first choice because he was the elder, and then Leslie would get the center seat on the way back.
As he walked around the carriage to the other side, Leland told John Groom that he felt like Solomon. His bubble of pride burst when the tiger grinned and wondered, if he was so wise, how come Master Wellesley was sitting on Mrs. Warrington’s lap?
“How the deuce can you tell that’s Willy?” the duke asked, confounded. He hadn’t seen a mark different, and he’d been looking.
“’E’s the quiet one. Sticks by ’is ma more.”
“Then what in blazes was all that argle-bargle about?”
“’E had to prove ’e weren’t a baby, now, didn’t ’e?”
The widow just smiled. Leland didn’t find that smile quite as appealing as some of the others he’d fought harder to win.
Graceanne finally relaxed under the carriage robe when she saw how competently the duke tooled the ribbons. He was careful of ruts, watchful for small animals near the hedgerows, and kept the pair to an even, moderate pace. Assured that John Groom was keeping one strong hand on Leslie’s shoulder, she soon eased her death grip on Willy and the railing. The boys were too enthralled to be troublesome. They looked so happy, she couldn’t hold back a sigh.
“Are you cold?” Leland asked, looking over briefly.
“No, I just couldn’t help wishing…”
“Wishing…?” he prompted her. “’Tis the season for that, after all.”
“No, I was just being goosish, wishing I could give the boys ponies of their own when they are old enough.”
She could give them a stable of their own if she wanted, he knew. And Warrington boys belonged on horses as soon as they could walk. Then again, what did a female know about such things? She was like to make a mull of it. Astounding himself with such fiercely protective emotions, he offered, “I’ll see to it when the time is right.” Which would be as soon as he and John could find the perfect mounts, but no need to worry a fussbudget mother yet. Then, gads, he mused to himself, if she beamed like that for a couple of ponies, imagine what she’d do for a pair of diamond earbobs.
There was something about his smile, and Greeks bearing gifts, that made Graceanne distrust his offer. She became downright panicky when the curricle turned off the road to the village and headed toward Ware Hold on its hill.
“I thought we were going to the village, Your Grace. That is, perhaps we should turn back now. Willy, are you chilled?”
Ware turned and grinned, feathering the comer between the Hold’s gates. “What, did you want to show off for your friends in town like Prudence? I thought to take the boys back to the Hold to see the decorations “
“No, no, that wouldn’t be at all the thing.” She couldn’t quite come out and say she feared for her virtue, but some of that worry must have shown on her face.
“You’re not a green girl, Cousin, who’s never let out alone.”
“But I still have to mind my reputation.” His reputation was what she minded most. “Small-town gossip is not a comfortable thing. And the vicar’s daughters…”
“But my aunt Eudora is up from London. There cannot be the tiniest tidbit for the scandalbroth. She wants to meet Tony’s boys. Will you come?”
Graceanne felt that she’d been outflanked again, but she nodded.
Going through the enormous doors of the castle, past the bewigged and bowing butler, the boys were dumbstruck for once. Graceanne kept tight hold on two little hands as two heads swiveled from the rigid footmen to the armored knights to the weapon-filled walls. Graceanne’s head swiveled, too, from the irreplaceable Dynasty bowls to the framed miniatures to the collection of carved jade horses. “I don’t think this is a good idea, Your Grace.”
“Nonsense.” Leland turned to the right-hand liveried sentry and assigned him to escort the children to the kitchens. “This is Master Wellesley, and Master Leslie, or vice versa. They would appreciate some hot chocolate and one of Henri’s pastries, I’m sure.”
The footman gulped. “Me, Your Grace?”
“Unless you wish to imitate an andiron for the rest of your life.”
Graceanne reluctantly transferred the boys’ hands to the servant’s immaculate gloves. “Be good, darlings, and don’t touch anything.”
“Not even the pretty horsies?”
“On second thought,” Ware decided, turning to the other footman, “you go along, too. After they’ve eaten, I’m sure there is a ball or something in the old nursery.”
Before the children were halfway across the vast cavern of the hall, a small, gray-haired woman dressed in the latest style approached, tapping her cane. “So there you are, Ware. I’ve been waiting an age. Had my tea without you.”
Leland made the introductions to his aunt, Lady Eudora Warrington.
“Remember the gel from the wedding. Your father still such a starched-up prig?” Before Graceanne could think of an answer to such a question, the old lady fired off another: “D’you gamble, missy?”
“Why, no, ma’am. My father—”
“Just what I thought, he is. I cannot abide niminy-piminy females, Ware, even if they are good breeders. Told you so. Now I’ll have to go trounce my maid again. Already owes me two years’ salary.”
Scarlet-faced, Graceanne still had to ask, “But I thought you wanted to see Tony’s children?”
Aunt Eudora pointed her cane to where the footmen were leading the boys away. “See ’em, don’t I? Got the Warrington look, at least. Now you can go put ’em in the icehouse or whatever, take ’em out when they’re eighteen or so and fit for society.” With that she tapped her way across the carpet and disappeared through an arched doorway.
Her head still spinning, Graceanne permitted herself to be led down a hall and into a library five times the size of the Misses Macgruders’ bookshop. The duke seated her on a leather armchair near the blazing fire and said, “Tea will be along shortly.”
“But no chaperone.” It was a statement, not a question. Oh, Papa was right, she never should have come. The duke was resting one arm on the mantel, looking so confident and at ease and attractive that she was tempted to throw one of his priceless Sevres vases at him. And there she’d been worried about the boys!